


Take Me Home

by CariadWinter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Banter, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Flirting, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Gun Play... sort of, Inappropriate Erections, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Morning After, Pining, Protectiveness, Trust Issues, Unexpected feelings, mentions of bullying, mentions of internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariadWinter/pseuds/CariadWinter





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



Shamus’ life was routine. Wake up, go to work, drinks at the bar with the guys after, go home, crash. Rinse, wash, repeat. That was his world in a nutshell. And that wasn’t to say that his life as a cop was boring. Far from it. Shamus had seen more than his share of shit. He lived with a constant bullseye on his back. It was the reason he refused to allow anyone into his life. At least, that’s what he always told himself. Easier to blame the job than himself.

He had needs, of course. Itches that needed to be scratched. And for that, he sought out anonymity. No strings, no names, just a quick fuck in a bar or motel somewhere and then everyone went on with their lives. It was better that way. Less mess. No complications. No awkward morning afters.

And yet, even with that strict set of rules, Shamus sometimes found himself on the wrong side of them. He’d want more. The desire to take someone home and ruin his preferred existence would be strong enough to almost make him do it. Then he’d think better of it and go home alone. Just like always. 

He was feeling that kind of way again though. Lonely. Lost in the crowd. There were bodies all around him, moving, rocking, grinding to the rhythm of the music blasting out in the club. Shamus preferred bars and familiar faces most nights, but not for this. Not for his private wants and needs. He didn’t feel the need to share those with anyone he knew. It was none of their business, after all, what he did behind closed doors.

Shamus watched them dance. He watched their hips sway, arms reaching upward or around, locking another body in place against their own. It was seductive. Inticing. He could feel the pulse of the club in his blood and could forget, just for a while, that he was anything more than just another warm body looking for a hookup.

A cute little blonde thing slipped in beside him at the bar, pressed himself into Shamus’ side, and Shamus bought him a drink. The kid was young, barely legal by the looks of it, but he wasn’t a cop tonight. He’d left his badge at home.

They had a few drinks, danced enough to leave Shamus sweaty and half-hard. The kid wasn’t his type. Not really. Shamus liked brunettes. He liked warm, tanned skin, plush pink lips, and long legs. This kid was blonde and pale and tiny. And he wasn’t that sexy, slender, ‘I want to see how you look beneath me’ kind of tiny. He was that too thin, sickly kind of thin. Shamus could feel the kid’s ribs when he pressed in close and it chased away the promise of an erection every time. 

Eventually, Shamus sent the kid off to find someone else and headed back to the bar. His previous spot was newly occupied; claimed by a newcomer that he’d not seen before. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t terribly alarming. The city was home to millions and every day there was someone new. Still, this new face caught his eye. 

The man was darker than his little blonde friend; dark hair, dark eyes, and skin that had most definitely been kissed by the sun. The stranger wasn’t dressed up. He was clad in a simple T-shirt and jeans, but the fabric hugged him, accentuated the muscled bulge of his arms and thighs. 

This man, he was Shamus’ type. He had the body of a god, a few days worth of scruff that made him look rough around the edges, and a ‘come fuck me’ smirk that made Shamus’ dick twitch.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered when he slid in next to the guy.

His stranger turned towards him, body almost pressed flush to Shamus’ side, and he held up the beer he apparently already had.

Shamus offered him a grin of his own and jerked his head towards the bartender. “How about you buy me one then?” 

The man took a long drink off his beer, then set the bottle on the bar and leaned in close. “How about we skip the small talk?”

Shamus licked his lips at the suggestion and felt himself swell even more. “Your place?”

His stranger stared at him, studied his face for a long, heart-pounding moment, then nodded and pushed away from the bar. Shamus followed after him, content with the not knowing. He didn’t need personal details. All he needed was seclusion and time.

 

* * *

 

Against his better judgment, Shamus went back to the club the following night. He never went two nights in a row. The sex had been amazing though. It had been the kind of sex you didn’t want to walk away from afterward. 

They hadn’t spoken; not on the way to the stranger’s apartment or after they’d gone stumbling through the front door. Hell, they’d barely gotten their clothes off before fucking like animals on the floor in the guy’s living room. Shamus’ knees were paying for it now, of course, but he didn’t care. He’d had two mind-blowing orgasms and was hoping for a third and a fourth.

Much to his disappointment, however, his stranger was nowhere to be found.

 

* * *

 

He went back the next night and the night after that, only to go home alone and disappointed. Shamus moped his way through the following week, distracted and cranky. He berated himself for not getting a name or a number. For once in his miserable life, he should have acted and instead, he’d done a runner the way he always did. No strings. No attachments. No problems. Only this time, the problem had found him anyway.

“You okay?” his partner inquired after what, he was certain, had been a very frustrating week for her as well.

Addison Raines had been his partner for the better part of six years and they’d been friends for longer. She was the only person who put up with his shit. She knew him in ways no one else did. He’d met her in college during the worst time of his life. They’d gone through the academy together. Survived walking a beat together. They’d been through heartache and worse. If there was anyone he could talk about this with, it was her.

“Fine,” he mumbled tiredly and sat back in his chair. They’d landed a particularly nasty case three days ago and were both mentally and physically exhausted. “Rough week.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed and gave him a knowing look. “And?”

“And nothing,” he told her. “I just, I don’t know… I met this guy and…”

“Wait,” Addison interjected, both eyebrows drawn up in surprise. “You met a guy?”

Shamus rolled his eyes at her. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. “It was just sex. A one-off that I can’t seem to shake.”

“Because he’s stalking you now or because you want seconds?” she asked and he snorted. Addison never pulled her punches. Also, he kind of wished the guy was stalking him. At least then he’d be easier to find.

“Seconds,” he conceded. 

“And the problem is?”

Shamus grunted and shrugged. “We didn’t exactly exchange names or numbers.”

Addison blinked at him. “Are you fucking stupid? Anonymous fucks. Really?”

“Don’t fuckin’ judge me, Addy,” he warned; his tone lacking any real heat. “I don’t need your shit right now.”

His partner just shook her head and mumbled what was probably slights against his character under her breath as she stood. 

“We need a drink,” she stated as she stood. “Dougal’s?”

Shamus shook his head. “Nah. Not for me. I’m just gonna head home,” he told her. “Call it a night. Get my head straight.”

Addison snorted. “Good luck with that,” she teased as she headed out.

“Go fuck yourself, Addy!” Shamus yelled after her.

“At least it'd get done right!” she yelled back before passing through the double doors.

There was a catcall from somewhere else in the squad room and Shamus chuckled before standing and heading out as well.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Shamus found himself strolling into the smoky, black-lit cavern of The Hanged Man. The club had been his home away from home every night that week and he was starting to hate himself for it. He didn’t do this. He didn’t chase after some random fuck no matter how good the sex had been.

And yet, when he spotted his stranger in the crowd fifteen minutes after he’d planted himself at the bar, Shamus’ pulse jumped. He pushed his way through the crowd, trailing his target across the dancefloor and up onto the upper floor of the club. The stranger led him away from the stairs, around the curve of the balcony overlooking the main floor, and off towards a less populated corner. 

When the man stopped and turned, gaze catching Shamus’ and holding it, Shamus was instantly hard. He moved into the guy’s personal space, pushed until they were both tucked back into the shadows, the stranger’s back against the wall.

Again they didn’t speak. Shamus didn’t give the man a chance. He simply lunged at him with lips and tongue and teeth; hands searching, bodies pressed so hard together that Shamus already felt like he was inside of him. One of the man’s hands tangled in his hair, tugged until Shamus’ neck arched backward to allow access to his throat. He grunted at the feel of teeth against his racing pulse and pressed his hips in tighter against the man’s groin.

“Fuck,” Shamus half-hissed, half-snarled.

He was painfully hard and ready to fuck the guy right there against the wall, public indecency be damned.

“Miss me?” the stranger growled into Shamus’ ear and the tremor it sent down his spine was enough to leave him lightheaded.

Suddenly, the man was staring at him again; their faces little more than an inch apart and Shamus couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” he answered honestly.

A smile curled the other man’s lips and Shamus wanted to bite at him. He wanted to pin those perfect pink lips between his teeth and suck at them until they were swollen and red.

“Your place?” the man asked and Shamus nodded before he could stop himself. He didn’t take people home with him. Ever. 

Until tonight.

 

* * *

 

The mattress shifted beneath him and Shamus blinked open sleepy eyes. He’d only just been sinking into blissful nothingness when the movement had roused him. His stranger had sat up and moved himself to the edge of the bed.

Shamus reached for him, fingertips ghosting down the line of the man’s spine. “Stay,” he entreated softly.

The man turned to him in profile, face barely visible in the pale light of the room. “I can’t,” was all he said.

Shamus shifted from his stomach to his side and propped himself up on one arm. “Please,” he asked again. “Stay.”

His stranger sighed, sat frozen for a moment, then turned and slipped back under the covers with him. Shamus moved in against him, pressed their bodies together, chest to side, groin to hip, thigh to thigh. He draped an arm over the man’s stomach, settled his head against the man’s shoulder, and then sucked in a sharp breath when he was suddenly rolled to his back, his lover’s body inserting itself between his parted thighs. 

Shamus’ hole clenched at the thought of being taken. He’d never bottomed before. Only, his stranger didn’t do anything more than lean down over him.

“Why?” the man whispered, their lips brushing as he spoke.

Shamus’ pulse jumped. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he replied, voice breathy.

The man ground their hips together, leaned in closer until his nose was pressed to the sensitive skin beneath Shamus’ ear. “You don’t even know me,” he pointed out. “I could be anyone. A killer.”

Warm lips ghosted across the curve of Shamus’ neck, down to the junction of his shoulder. “Is that really someone you want in your bed?”

Shamus swallowed back a groan and forced his more logical, cop brain to shut the hell up. “If you really wanted to kill me, you’d have done it already,” he replied and received a quiet chuckle in response.

Teeth grazed his collarbone, caused his breath to hitch, and Shamus squeezed his eyes shut when the man’s tongue licked down his chest to his nipple. He was half-hard again despite the amazing orgasm he’d already had not that long ago.

“Some people would call that reckless,” the man said between bites and nips that left Shamus squirming against the sheets.

“Are you going to kill me?” Shamus panted, too distracted by the man’s ministrations to really be serious.

His stranger stopped, shifted up over him again until their eyes met in the darkness. “Not tonight,” he answered with a playful grin.

Shamus huffed out a startled laugh and bent his leg up; used it to brace himself against the bed and then rolled them. 

“No more talk,” Shamus insisted and kissed him with a raw, desperate kind of hunger that he’d not felt in years.

The man relaxed beneath him; opened to him, thighs parting until Shamus settled in the cradle of his body. They ate at each other, lips saying silently what neither of them could admit out loud. Shamus reached blindly for another condom and the lube, fumbled with the bedside table drawer because he couldn’t force himself to pull away and look properly.

Once in hand, it took him only a second to prepare them both and push into the tight, welcoming heat of the body beneath him. His lover was already loose and ready for him. They’d done this once tonight and it just made the seconds that much more incredible. Easier. Effortless somehow. 

Shamus groaned at the feel of them slotted together. He pushed in deep, panted out his pleasure while the man beneath him gasped and arched up against him. It was heaven. Pure, unadulterated decadence.

And Shamus never wanted it to stop.

 

* * *

 

Shamus blinked groggily against the darkness and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t recall what had woken him, but a glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was early. Barely past six in the morning. He shifted with a groan, rolled to his side, and reached for the warmth of the body next to him, only to find the sheets cold and himself alone.

He blinked again, glanced towards the still closed bedroom door, and then pushed himself up into a sitting position. He opened his mouth to call out, then realized he had no name to call. They were still strangers in everything but body language. 

Shamus moved to climb out of bed but stopped himself when his gaze caught on the figure sitting in the chair across the room. 

His lover was silent, gaze cast down to the silenced gun against his thigh. The first morning rays of the sun peeked in through the sheer curtains, bathing him in a halo of pale light. 

“I’ve tried a thousand different ways to convince myself that this was just another job,” his stranger stated softly and Shamus' heart stuttered in his chest.

“Observe, get close, neutralize.” The tone was distracted, distant like he was a thousand miles away. “It’s simple really. Same job, different target. Business as usual.”

He looked up finally, met Shamus' gaze and the look on the man’s face made the small smile that curled his lips look like a raw, gaping wound.

“I’ve killed you a million times in my head and now, when I finally have the chance to do it for real, I can’t seem to make myself pull the trigger.”

The confession made Shamus' pulse rabbit; his own gaze traveling to the bedside table and the promise of his own gun. It was there, next to his badge, tucked safely in its holster where it always was.

“Do it,” the man whispered, the words sounding more like a plea than a challenge.

Shamus looked back at him, still sitting in the armchair, the pain that had been on his face wiped away by a blank veneer. Something told him that the man wouldn’t kill him if Shamus went for his weapon, but he opted on swinging his legs out from under the sheet and shifting to the edge of the bed instead.

He sighed as he raked a hand back through his hair before meeting his stranger’s eyes again.

“Whelan?” Shamus asked; because he’d made his fair share of enemies during his time on the force, but James Whelan was the one who probably wanted him dead the most.

The man shrugged a shoulder, attention turning towards the window. “Does it matter?” he asked.

Shamus felt naked with just the edge of a sheet to shield him, but also strangely calm. He’d only met this guy a week ago, they’d only been together twice, but something about him stilled Shamus’ hand. He wasn’t reacting like a cop. Couldn’t. There was this unexpected easiness between them and he clung to that like a drowning man. Nothing had ever been easy in his life. Not like this.

“I guess I figure, if I’m going to die, I’d like to know who wanted the trigger pulled,” Shamus pointed out and the man looked back over at him.

“Contractor was anonymous,” he revealed. “Everything happens through a third party. No direct contact.”

“How convenient,” Shamus mumbled with a bitter edge to his tone. “I do hate the intelligent ones. Makes my job harder.”

His stranger smiled again and it made Shamus’ blood run cold. That smile wasn’t right. It wasn’t the one he was used to. He could see the killer now, staring back at him through those cold, deep blue eyes.

“Sorry to make things harder for you,” he quipped.

Shamus nodded, stood, and froze when the gun in the man’s hand rose to rest along the arm of the chair. One well-placed bullet and this would all be over. No more talking. No more… whatever this had been.

What’s worse, Shamus was caught somewhere between shitting himself and sporting an erection. It was ludacris really, the fact that he was aroused, but it was nothing new to him. Shamus had always gotten off on dangerous situations; on inappropriate things. It made things interesting considering his profession.

The man’s eyes darted down, his lips curled up at the corner, and then he slowly traced his gaze back up the length of Shamus' torso. “Not exactly the response I usually get when pointing a gun at someone,” he stated, amused.

Shamus arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you fuck all your victims then?”

There was a note of jealousy and accusation in Shamus' voice that he hadn’t intended and the man’s grin deepened into a cocky smirk.

“Just you,” he answered softly and Shamus' cock hardened further.

Shamus took a step forward, eyes darting between the man’s finger on the trigger and his eyes.”Why me?”

“Because we have history,” he revealed. “Unfinished business, I guess you could say.”

Shamus snorted a breathy laugh and took another step forward. The man’s eyes never left him. 

“I lock up a family member of yours?” Shamus goaded. “Raid the wrong factory? Kill a cousin?”

The man’s smirk faded along with the slight amusement in his eyes. He huffed his own quiet, bitter laugh. 

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” he replied. “I’m not that pathetic little nobody you use to shove into lockers and demean every time you had the chance.”

Shamus' brow furrowed and he stared intently at him for a second; heart pounding so hard in his chest he was certain the other man could hear it. Yes, he’d been an asshole in school and he’d done some pretty shitty things, but this guy was no one he remembered. 

“I don’t...” Shamus started, confused.

“We were friends once,” his stranger offered. “For about two seconds during the summer before our freshman year of high school.”

Shamus’ eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Rian? But you… I mean… you look...”

“Different?” Rian supplied and Shamus nodded. 

Gone were the gangly limbs and those shy, baby-faced features that he remembered. Rian seemed taller somehow. He’d replaced a boney frame with strong shoulders, a broad chest, and a flat, toned stomach. He was all muscle with miles of tanned skin that made Shamus’ stomach clench.

“Understatement,” Shamus mumbled.

The reaction got a wry smile out of Rian. “Nice to know that you remember after all.”

“I… of course I remember. I just didn’t… you don’t exactly… jesus, Rian. What the fuck?” Shamus snarled, stammering and tripping over every word with guilty indignation. “I was a stupid fucking kid and that was like a thousand years ago. I didn’t… You were never a nobody. Okay?”

There was no excuse for what he or his friends had done to Rian. Shamus knew that. Still, he was a little floored at the fact that it was coming back to bite him in the ass now. Like this. Shit like this only happened in the movies.

“Wasn’t I?” Rian murmured. 

Shamus' mouth opened, but his retort got lost somewhere in his throat. He’d been a fucking idiot growing up. His father had branded into his brain what a real man should be. His life had been football and bone-headed friends and girls with too-short skirts. He’d done things he’d regretted, said things he couldn’t take back, and RJ was the one person he regretted hurting most.

“The things we did to you… that I did to you…” Shamus licked his lips and wrapped his arms around his chest. “I hated myself for it.” Rian snorted and Shamus hurried to add, “and I know that doesn’t mean much now. Hell, it probably wouldn’t have meant much then. But I am sorry, Rian. For everything.”

Rian shrugged and turned the gun to rest on the arm of the chair rather than continuing to hold it upright.

“I hated you for a long time; wondered over and over again how someone who’d called himself my friend could turn on me for no reason. Could torture me for four fucking years like it was nothing.” Every word was spoken with a cold aloofness that made Shamus’ hands tremble. “I wanted to punish all of you for that. Wanted to make you hurt.” 

Rian shrugged again and sighed, the hard edge melting away from his words and his gaze. “But in the end, I hated myself more than you. I never fought back. I took it because I didn’t know how to defend myself. I was afraid of the beatings. Of going home with another black eye and having to explain to my father why I let some asshole put his hands on me. ”

Shamus opened his mouth to speak; to apologize again because he didn’t think he could ever apologize enough, but Rian shook his head. 

“That’s all done now,” he told him. “Or, at least I thought it was. I enlisted after high school, got out of that town and as far away from everyone who hurt me as I could go.”

“How did enlisting in the army lead to you killing people for a living?” Shamus asked; the idea of it too absurd for him to comprehend properly. 

Rian smiled at him. “I take care of problems for people who are willing to pay,” he clarified.

“And I’m a problem,” Shamus stated, not sounding the least bit surprised.

“You’ve always been someone’s problem,” Rian replied and while his gaze was still amused, his smile had faded. “I just never thought you’d be mine again.”

It was Shamus' turn to smile and suddenly some of the tension that had settled on his chest lifted. “Am I?” he asked. “Yours? Or are you really going to kill me?”

The sudden intensity of Rian’s stare made Shamus' stomach flutter. It was as though the other man was looking into him, through him, picking him apart piece by piece until there was nothing left. It went on for several minutes and the longer Rian refused to speak, the more insecure Shamus felt. He shifted, wanted to cover himself but tightened his arms around his chest instead.

“I thought about it,” Rian admitted. “I wanted to. It’s why I took the job. The second I saw your photograph, I knew I would have taken the job no matter what the payment. But then…”

Rian shook his head and seemed to sag a little into the chair. “I started following you, learning your routine, your habits. I got to see the man you’d become. Your... life as a detective is an interesting one. You’re good at your job. Dependable. Understanding. You help the ones you can, ones most cops would overlook, and you take down the bad ones. Though, the way you deal with some of them…” 

That smile hooked the corner of his mouth up again as Rian studied Shamus’ face. “Dirty and clean all at the same time.”

“I do what I have to,” Shamus supplied, voice hard but not defensive. 

Rian’s smile widened. “You certainly do,” he agreed. “And you’ve made your share of enemies because of it. In and out of the department. Your own brothers in blue don’t know what to do with you. Your partner’s loyal, but everyone else gives you a wide berth. Questions you. Doubts you. Fears you the same as the bad guys do.”

“What’s your point, Rian?” Shamus snapped. His patience was wearing thin. Always did when his motives were called into question. He did what he had to do to get the bad guys off the streets. Period. End of.

“The point is,” Rian began as he stood, “we’re not so different, you and I.”

Shamus snorted, arms dropping to his sides. “I don’t kill for money.”

“No,” Rian agreed. “Just your twisted sense of justice.”

“Fuck you,” Shamus snarled, pissed now and still frustratingly aroused.

Rian’s smile turned playful and he moved the few steps it took to close the gap between them. “You did that already,” he teased. “I think it’s my turn.”

Shamus felt heat flood his face and he licked his lips again. “You didn’t answer my question,” Shamus pressed. It was stupid really, but he couldn’t let it go. Not yet. “What did the army do to you? What fucked up shit happened to you that this is who you became? And why all this? Why not just kill me and move on?”

“It was the marines,” Rian corrected, eyes darting down to Shamus’ mouth before glancing back up. “And they taught me how to be a good soldier, how to be a man. The rest came after. As for you…” His eyes searched Shamus’ face. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” he whispered.

Shamus leaned in, brought their faces close enough that their lips brushed and their breaths mingled. “So why tell me all this now?” he asked. “If you’re still trying to figure things out.”

Rian’s eyes closed and he shifted just enough to nudge their noses together. “Because last night was the deadline,” he revealed softly. “And when I failed to complete my assignment, the failsafe would have been activated. Meaning someone else has been sent to finish the job.” 

He stepped away from Shamus, eyes opening and it was as though a switch had been flipped. Rian was cold and closed off again. “You should get dressed,” he told Shamus and turned towards the door. “This location will have been compromised and I’m not sure how much time we have.”

Shamus stopped him; reached for his arm and tugged him around until he was facing him again. “Why insert yourself into my life? Why climb into my bed when all you had to do was pull a trigger?”

Rian, for just a moment, looked hunted; as though he were the prey and Shamus was the predator. It brought Shamus' arousal back to the forefront; filled his cock to bursting and caused his heart to slam hard up into the backs of his ribs.

The look faded as quickly as it had appeared though and Rian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I wanted to hurt you,” he confessed but didn’t try to pull himself from Shamus' grasp. “I wanted to make you feel the way I felt all those years ago. I wanted to break you the way you broke me.”

Shamus blinked at him; not terribly surprised by the response but clearly wounded. His hand dropped from Rian’s arm and he took a step back only to have Rian follow him.

“For years, I let you push me around. I let you tear me down and apart bit by bit until there was nothing left. You and your friends terrorized me. Made me feel like I was nothing.”

Shamus' back hit the wall and he sucked in a sharp breath as Rian pushed in against him.

“And you know what the sick part was?” he continued softly. “I wanted you. Some fucked up part of my brain wanted you to like me again. Wanted to keep you close. And now, all these years later, I have you. You couldn’t get me into your bed fast enough and even now, knowing what I am and what I came here to do...”

Rian reached down and palmed Shamus’ cock. “You still want it.”

The rush of lust that surged up through him was enough to leave Shamus breathless.

He lifted a hand to cradle the back of Rian’s head while the other cupped the man’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Rian,” he breathed out. “So fucking sorry. For hurting you. For everything. I didn’t know… Couldn’t accept what I wanted. How I felt. Not then.”

Rian huffed out a small laugh and squeezed his fist around him. “Fuck you,” he growled and Shamus crushed the bitter response with his mouth.

Rian grunted into the kiss and after a stunned second, opened to him. It was rough and desperate. They ate at each other; got lost in the taste and feel of each other. Shamus' tongue thrust into Rian’s mouth and Rian pressed his gun hand into Shamus’ hip. The metal was cold against Shamus’ heated skin and he shivered as it slid up over his hip to his side and then around to his back. Rian nipped at his lips; took control of the kiss and Shamus melted into him. Their lips and bodies tangled together, hands clutching so tightly that they seemed to meld into one person.

Shamus wanted it to last forever. He wanted to stay in that moment; wanted to lean into the cold press of gunmetal and know that it was there for his protection and not to end his life. But as all good things were want to do…

Rian pulled out of the kiss and away. “We don’t have time for this,” he told him. “You’re still in danger and I can’t stop what’s coming. Not like this.”

Shamus dropped his head back against the wall, chest heaving. He was hot and hard and ready to go and even the threat to his life, apparently, wasn’t enough to give him pause.

“I could be dead in an hour,” he rationalized and Rian shook his head. 

“Only if you fuck up.”

“Rian, please…” And yes, he was begging because this was the single best thing to happen to him in as long as he could remember and there was this feeling in his gut, telling him that now was all he was going to get.

Rian sighed and leaned in to press their foreheads together. Shamus slipped his arms around him, pulled him close and it was enough. Just having him near, being able to feel him, it was enough.

“Do you forgive me?” Shamus whispered.

Rian exhaled loudly; brought a hand up to cup the side of Shamus' neck. “I forgave you the second time I let you see me,” he told him. “I’m good at what I do, Shae. A ghost. I didn’t let you bring me home with you because of the job.”

“Yeah?” Shamus huffed, but any response Rian might have given was muffled under the press of Shamus’ mouth to his.

He kissed him again; slipped his tongue between Rian’s lips to taste and lick and fuck him the only way he could at the moment. It was slow and sinful; dirty somehow. Lustful. He wanted to strip Rian down, break him apart, and consume him until there was nothing left but yes and always and anything.

Rian shuddered in his arms, allowed himself to be turned and pressed into the wall and Shamus seized the advantage. He reached down to fumble with the button of his lover’s jeans until it popped free.

“I should have done this years ago,” Shamus panted; lips still pressed lightly to Rian’s mouth. Shamus’ hand slipped inside Rian’s jeans and cupped him over his briefs.

Rian shuddered again and shook his head. “There’s no time for this,” he murmured despite the growing bulge pressing against Shamus’ palm.

“I want you, Rian. I’ve been gone for you since that summer you moved in next door with your dad. You were the first guy I ever got a hard-on for and I hated you for it. All I kept thinking about was kissing you. Wondering what it would feel like. What you would taste like. If your lips were as soft as they looked. It drove me nuts.”

“What?” Rian mumbled and started to pull away but Shamus pressed in harder, pinned him.

“I was scared. A confused, idiot kid who hated the fact that he was attracted to his very male next door neighbor. I couldn’t deal with it. Didn’t want to be gay. I didn’t want to feel those things. Making the team and pretending to fit in made it easier once school started back up. Blaming you made it easier. Hating you… punishing you for making me feel what I was feeling was the only way I could fake being normal.”

Shamus’ free hand lifted until his fingers were tangled in the hair at the back of Rian’s head. “I thought, if I could just get you to hate me, I’d be able to breathe. Only, the feelings never went away. I couldn’t hold down a relationship or concentrate on classes. I started driving two counties over just so I could fuck around with random guys and hate myself even more. Then you went away and I… I thought things would be different. They weren’t though. I still hated myself, you were gone, and nobody cared one way or the other.”

Rian’s body trembled, his legs parting a little more and Shamus took that moment to pull his hand out of the other man’s pants and press in between his thighs.

“I missed you,” Shamus whispered against Rian’s mouth. “So much.” 

Rian squeezed his eyes shut, head shaking back and forth in denial, and he blew out a shaking breath. “Fuck you,” he grated between clenched teeth. “You didn’t even recognize me, asshole.”

Shamus huffed out a thick chuckle. “In my defense, you’ve changed a bit more than most people do.”

Rian snorted out a soft laugh and opened his eyes again. “If you’re lying right now… I really will kill you.”

Shamus grinned and nipped at Rian’s bottom lip. “I could arrest you, you know. For threatening an officer.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Rian challenged, his eyes sparking with amusement.

They stared at each other for a long moment, breaths labored, hearts pounding through the press of their chests together. And then, far too soon for Shamus’ liking, Rian pushed against his chest.

“Get dressed,” he instructed as he attempted to free himself from the press of Shamus’ body. “We’ve lost too much time as it is.”

“Rian…”

“Now, Shae!” Despite the soft flush of his cheeks, Rian’s eyes were blazing with urgency. “I can’t do this with you! Not now. Not when there’s someone coming here to kill you.”

Shamus pushed back in again, refusing to let him escape. “And after?” he demanded.

Rian exhaled harshly through his nose but softened slightly. “And if we make it through this in one piece… maybe there will be a next time.”

Shamus arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed with his response. “Maybe?”

Rian growled, grabbed Shamus by the throat, and kissed him violently. It was a painful mash of lips and tongue and teeth, and Shamus sank into it like a starving man only to growl as well when Rian finally managed to pull away.

“I need you to get yourself somewhere safe. Go to the station, surround yourself with people you trust. Do what you have to do to stay alive long enough for me to eliminate the threat. And once it’s done, if we survive… we’ll talk,” Rian told him as he headed for the bedroom door.

“Eliminate the threat? You mean the person who wants me dead?” Shamus called after him, still a little dazed and very, very aroused. “I thought you didn’t know who it was.”

Rian opened the door, then glanced back at him. “Solving problems is what I do, Shae. I’ll figure out a way.”

“And what if you can’t?” Shamus asked, taking a step forward. “What if you die?”

Rian offered him a faint smile. “I’ll keep breathing if you do.”

“Not good enough,” Shamus protested. “ Promise me you’ll come back.”

Rian’s smile faded. “I don’t make promises, Shae. Not ones I’m not sure I can keep. But I’ll try. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Shamus took another step forward, needing more. “No,” he stated firmly. “You’re going to take me with you.” It wasn’t a demand. It was a statement of fact.

Rian arched an eyebrow at him. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because you want me safe,” Shamus replied matter-of-factly.

“You’ll be safe at the precinct.”

Shamus shook his head. “How easy would it be for you to get your hands on a uniform and slip, unnoticed, into any station you wanted?”

Rian just stared at him for a moment. He was thinking about it. Shamus could practically see the calculations processing behind Rian’s eyes. 

“Not easy,” Rian replied finally. “Not without knowing the layout, camera angles, security zones. They aren’t exactly designed to be broken into easily.”

“They’re meant to keep people in not out,” Shamus corrected. “Tell me that if you wanted to, you couldn’t get to me in there.”

Rian thought about it some more and then nodded. “Yeah. I’d need twenty-four hours to prepare. Maybe a bit more. But yeah, it’s doable.”

“And how long will it take you to track down your target and take him out?” Shamus asked, not willing to admit that the thought of it didn’t bother him. He was a cop for fuck’s sake.

Another long, pregnant pause hung in the air between them and Rian finally sighed. “Will you fucking get dressed?” he snapped. “Your swinging dick is distracting.”

Shamus grinned. “Is that a yes then?”

“Twenty-four hours,” Rian told him, eyes carefully trained on Shamus’ face and nothing more. He didn’t look certain. He looked more determined than anything else and that made Shamus nervous.

“Rian…”

“Don’t, Shae,” Rian warned. “Twenty-four hours. Just stay safe for that long and we’ll figure the rest out after.”

Shamus grit his teeth and nodded, unable to say anything more because Rian seemed determined to leave him on his own. Rian nodded as well and turned away only to pause a second later. 

“This’ll never work you know,” he stated quietly. “My life. Your life. They don’t mix.”

Shamus’ heart gave a sharp twist. “I know.”

Rian gave another nod. “Twenty-four hours, Shae,” he said again. “Everything will be okay then.”

“Will it?” Shamus asked.

Rian didn’t answer; just glanced back at him one last time and then left.

Shamus’ fists balled at his sides. His arousal was gone and in its wake, a sinking feeling had settled in his stomach. If Rian didn’t come back, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the other man to stop what was coming.

With that thought, Shamus looked one last time at the bed they’d shared the night before, then moved to do as Rian had asked. He’d give him his twenty-four hours.

 

* * *

 

“You’re late,” his partner stated when Shamus slumped down into the chair at his desk. 

“Not today, Addy,” he told her tiredly; distractedly.

She perched on the side of his desk a minute later and set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “Long night?”

Shamus slouched in the chair and looked up at her. 

“Yeah,” he said, sighing through his nose. “Long night.”

She arched an eyebrow at him but nodded and stood. “Alright. I won’t push,” she told him. They’d figured out a long time ago that neither was going to talk if they didn’t want to. 

He offered her a smile, watched her stand and move back to sit at her own desk. And then that was that. They spent the rest of the morning catching up paperwork and making idle chatter.

Around noon, their unit caught a case. Mackey and Hobs took point while Shamus and Addy provided support. Shamus, for the first time in as long as he could remember, volunteered to hang back and make calls. The others eyeballed him for it, shocked that he’d opt to not be out in the field. He just shrugged it off as not feeling great and everyone but Addy bought it. She didn’t question him though. She knew he’d come to her when he was ready.

Hours passed. Shamus lost himself in call after call and before he realized it, it was nearing midnight and most of the unit had emptied out for the night. He stayed behind, not sure it was safe to go home just yet. Besides, Mackey and Hobs were still at it. They’d been in interrogation for an hour now and the suspect was giving them the runaround. 

“You staying?” Addy asked as she stood and grabbed for her jacket.

“Just for a bit,” he told her. “Wanna see if they make any progress with the kid in there.”

“Kids not gonna roll,” she told him. “He’s more afraid of that scumbag Mason than he is of us.”

Shamus just nodded.

Addy propped herself on the edge of her own desk this time and stared at him. “Is it bad?” she asked and he knew she wasn’t talking about the case anymore.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Just trying not to want something I’m not sure I can have.”

“We talkin’ about your one off?”

Shamus shrugged a shoulder and tossed his pen down on his desk before leaning back in his chair. “Turns out he’s more. ”

“You caught feelings,” Addy supplied and Shamus glanced over at her.

He gave a single nod of his head, then looked back to his computer screen despite not really seeing what was there in front of him. 

“Old feelings,” he mumbled. “Shit I thought was gone a long time ago.”

“I thought you said he was just some guy you met in a club?”

“He was,” Shamus told her, but then added, “until he wasn’t.”

Addy snorted. “Jesus, Shae. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Shamus licked his lips and shifted his gaze down to the file laying open on his desk. A picture of a younger Rian stared up at him. The familiar baby face was softer, his frame was smaller, but gone were the longish brown locks he’d sported all through school. It was the last known picture taken of GySgt Rian C. Mahoney before he was supposedly killed in Afghanistan. His record stopped there.

“After Allan died, you asked me if I’d ever been in love,” Shamus said as he looked over to Addy. 

Addy crossed her arms over her chest defensively and nodded. “You said there’d been someone you could have loved but you’d fucked it up,” was her response and Shamus felt horrible for reopening the wound. 

Allan had been the very married officer Addy had been assigned to right out of the academy. They’d been nothing more than partners and friends at first. The longer they were together though, the closer they’d grown. No physical lines had been crossed according to Addy. Allan never cheated on his wife. Anyone with eyes could see how much they’d cared for each other though. Then the worst had happened. Allan had been killed in the line of duty and Addy never recovered. Getting Shamus as a partner had helped later, but Addy was closed off now. She didn’t let people get close. Was too afraid of being hurt again.

He closed Rian’s file and rolled his neck until it popped. The small release of pressure made his headache a little less. “I guess maybe I’ve just been thinking about him lately.”

“Because of the new guy?” Addy questioned and Shamus nodded.

“I realized this morning that I had a chance to do it all again,” he mumbled absently, eyes going unfocused as he thought about his confrontation with Rian. The things they’d said to each other. “Maybe I could do it right this time.”

“With him or…” Addy began but was cut off when someone burst into the room.

They both looked over to see the desk sergeant heading over to them hurriedly.

“Word just came over the wire,” Sgt. Heeley stated and moved past them to the television in the corner. 

He flipped quickly through a few channels before stopping on a live news feed, then looked back to the two of them. “James Whelan and two of his top lieutenants were just assassinated.”

Shamus stood, heart suddenly in his throat and he moved a few steps towards the TV. Addy was saying something, talking to him maybe. Or the sarge. Shamus couldn’t hear her though. His ears were ringing and the rest of the world had fallen away. Rian had done it. He’d killed Whelan. He’d assassinated the fucking head of the Irish mob. For him. 

“Shae?” 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, but Shamus didn’t acknowledge it. He simply turned on his heels, grabbed Rian’s file up off his desk, grabbed his jacket, and fled the precinct.

* * *

 

Shamus made it all the way back to his apartment without really thinking. He slowed as he approached the door. It was closed, locked the way he’d left it, but the cop part of his brain told him not to just go charging in like an idiot. Just because Whelan was dead didn’t mean the threat was gone. He could still be a target. Which made his decision to leave the station even dumber. He’d promised Rian twenty-four hours, but what was done was done.

He entered slowly, gun drawn to clear any threats. 

Room by room, the ache of the past few days sank in. He was alone and exhausted. Nothing seemed real. His unit had worked tirelessly for the past four years to bring Whelan down, but he’d always been one step ahead. Always just out of reach. Now, it was just done. Battle over. The Whelan family was finished. Everything he’d been working towards for four years had come to a close and Shamus didn’t know how to feel about it. 

As a cop, he knew he should be angry. Things should have been handled by the book. This wasn’t the first time he’d ventured outside the confines of the law though. It wasn’t even the first time he’d put a bullet in a bad guy without cause or provocation. So yeah, maybe Rian had been right. They weren’t so different, the two of them. Not really.

Once the apartment was clear, Shamus headed back out into the living room and sank down on the sofa with a grunt. His body was done despite not knowing if he’d be able to sleep tonight. A glance to the right told him that the living room wouldn’t be the best place to crash though. There were four large windows offering any would-be assassin a clear line of sight into the apartment and no curtains. 

For a moment, as he stared out into the darkness of the street beyond, Shamus had an insane moment of just wishing it would happen. He wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t want to die, not really. He simply wanted the mundane, painstakingly monotonous cycle that was his everyday life to be done with. He needed more, needed to feel like what he did actually mattered. 

When Shamus had joined the force, things had been different. He’d had that naive, ready to change the world mentality that made everything worth it. He’d felt elated every time he’d put another bad guy behind bars. The longer he’d lived in the city though, the more it wore him down. The nights had gotten longer, the days shorter, and for every asshole they’d put away, ten more would pop-up to take their place. It was an endless cycle of shit and Shamus was tired.

He sat and stared a second longer; waited for something to happen and when nothing did, Shamus sighed. He looked slowly around his empty living room and realized this was it. This was all there was. The rest was just waiting for something, anything to happen. The rest was waiting for the past to somehow change itself.

With another sigh, Shamus pushed himself up off the sofa. He needed a shower and then sleep… and maybe a few stiff drinks somewhere in between.

 

* * *

 

The crash that woke him sent Shamus scrambling out of bed, gun in hand. He crouched low, weapon aimed at the bedroom door and reached out with his free hand to flick on the lamp. A quick survey of the room told him he was alone and that the noise was coming from the other side of the door. 

There was another crash, a grunt, and then a shot. 

Shamus moved then, crept slowly to the bedroom door and eased it open just enough to peer out. In the dark, he could make out two struggling figures. The gun went off again, the bullet shattering whatever it hit, and Shamus eased the door open enough to check his front door before moving out into the living area.

Gun trained on the struggling men, Shamus felt himself go numb. His mind set aside everything else but this moment, this one instance in time. They stumbled around his living room; crashed into a wall, the table, sent a chair toppling to its side. 

“Rian!” Shamus heard himself yell, but couldn’t remember making the choice to do so. 

Everything was moving slowly; sluggishly as though someone had hit the wrong button on the remote, put the world on slow-mo. 

“Shae!” Rian ground out, limbs still tangled with the other man. “Go!”

Shamus shook his head; gun still trained on the two of them. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t leave him. 

And then the gun went off again… The two bodies twisted around each other jerked, went still, and then Rian stumbled backward. Even in the dim light, Shamus could see the black-red rush of blood soaking into the pale-colored shirt. 

The other man raised the gun higher and Shamus reacted. “No!” he bellowed; finger squeezing the trigger as he moved forward. 

He squeezed once, twice, kept firing until the other man dropped. Threat neutralized.

Shamus stared for a moment, suspended somewhere between shock and terror. He was shaking, adrenaline streamlining through him like a ruptured artery. It was over. The assassin was dead and…

“Rian!” Shamus yelled as he spun, gaze wildly searching for his injured lover.

Rian was leaning limply against the wall to Shamus’ left, hand clutched to his side. Shamus moved to him quickly, hand reaching blindly to replace his lover’s hand over the wound. 

“I’m fine,” Rian assured him and let his own hand drop to his side. “Just a flesh wound.”

“Jesus Christ, Rian,” Shamus breathed out as he pressed their foreheads together. “I thought…”

“I told you to stay at put,” Rian interjected and it made Shamus tremble violently, jaw clenching around a muffled, almost hysterical, breathy laugh.

He shuffled in closer, pressed their bodies flush against each other. “I saw the news.” It was all the explanation Shamus could muster. 

Rian was stiff against him, expression guarded. “You had one job, Shae. Stay safe.” The tone was angry. “And you couldn’t do it.”

“What?” Shamus breathed out, heart beating a little too fast at the sight of the blood. “Whelan was dead!”

Rian pressed a hand into Shamus’ chest and pushed him back. “Twenty-four hours, Shamus! You promised me!”

“I thought it was over!” Shamus yelled back, his own anger spiking through his own fear and relief.

“Nothing’s over until I say it is!” Rian snarled. “He could have fucking killed you!”

Shamus moved back in again, pressed himself to Rian until the other man was pinned between him and the wall.

“But he didn’t,” Shamus mumbled softly; one hand going back to Rian’s side, while the other reached up to cup his lover’s face. “He didn’t. You saved me.”

Rian opened his mouth to speak again, but Shamus silenced him with a kiss. It was forceful at first; a hard press of lips and teeth until the other man eased and opened to him. Tension melted out of both of them. It bled down through their bodies and out, leaving way for raw hunger and need. Rian’s arms wrapped around him; pulled Shamus in closer until they were joined from shoulder to knee.

Shamus caught Rian’s bottom lip between his own and sucked gently. He licked and nipped and dove back in, tongue licking into Rian’s mouth. One of Rian’s hands found its way into Shamus’ hair, fingers twisting into the short, dark strands.

“Never do that again,” Rian panted when they finally parted. “Idiot.”

Shamus grinned lazily and pressed their foreheads together again. “I’ll promise if you will,” he murmured with a contented sigh. “Never leave me again.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Shae,” Rian told him. “This isn’t… whatever you think it is. I can’t do this. Can’t stay here.”

Shamus frowned and untangled their limbs to take a step back. “Why? Why can’t this be something?”

Rian drew in a deep breath, coughed and winced, then pressed his own hand back to his side. “You’re a cop, Shae,” he pointed out. “And I’m a killer. What kind of life is that?”

Shamus grit his teeth and turned away; pissed and frustrated. He wanted to rage. Wanted to upturn every piece of furniture he owned.

“It’s a fucking life!” he roared as he turned back to Rian. “It’s… something. Anything. I can’t just watch you leave again.”

Rian shook his head and moved forward, back into Shamus’ personal space. “Think about it, Shae. This… us… it was just a dream we had a million years ago. It wasn’t any good then and it’s not any good now.”

“No,” Shamus argued, shaking his own head. “No.”

Rian lifted his free hand to Shamus’ face and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “You’re safe now, Shae,” he told him. “Try and stay that way.”

Rian moved away from him and Shamus let him. He was afraid if he touched him, he’d hurt him. Afraid he’d hold on so tightly that he’d break them both.

“I’m not going to let you go, Rian,” Shamus said before Rian could make his way to the door.

Rian turned to look at him but didn’t speak.

Shamus worked his jaw as he thought; tried to figure out if what he was about to say was actually true.

“We could do this. Start over. Be better.” He felt the bite of tears and prayed to any god that was listening that he wouldn’t start to cry.

“How?” Rian asked with a shake of his head. “How do we do that, Shae? There is no us. I’ve been back in your life… what? A week? And you just want to throw your life away now? For what? Some imaginary belief you have that this is more than it really is?”

The words cut, but Shamus wasn’t ready to give up that easily. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he demanded. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t feel it too. That you don’t want every fucking thing I’m offering right now.”

He tried to clear his throat past a sudden lump and straightened a little. “You do that and… I’ll let you go.” Shamus shrugged. “Pretend it never happened.”

Rian glared at him; looked as though he were mentally searching for a thousand different reasons why it would never work. 

“You don’t have to be a killer,” Shamus stated as he moved slowly towards him. “And I don’t have to be a cop. We could go somewhere. Start over. Together.”

Rian shook his head again. “And do what, Shae? How does this work? How do we work?”

“I don’t know,” Shamus answered truthfully and the distant sound of sirens approaching drew his attention. Someone had called the cops.

He reached out to grab Rian’s arm just as the other man turned to flee. 

“I don’t deserve more. I know that.” Shamus’ hand clenched around Rian’s arm once before releasing it. “But I want to try. And yeah, maybe we don’t know each other anymore, but I know how I feel. I know how I’ve always felt about you. And this time I don’t want to run away from it.”

Rian took a step back, gaze darting towards the windows and the growing sound of sirens.

“I’m sorry, Shae,” Rian whispered as he looked back to him. “Truly.”

Shamus watched him go; heart breaking as the other man disappeared through the opened door. 

 

* * *

 

Shamus stared blankly at the drying pool of blood on his living room floor as various uniformed officers, detectives, and crime scene investigators moved around him. There were questions he’d have to answer and statements that would have to be made, but for the moment, Shamus was trapped in his own head. 

Rian was right. The idea that they could be together, that it would work, it was crazy. They weren’t kids anymore. Not that it would have worked then either. Or it would have. Maybe this was his way of trying to change the past. Of answering the ‘what if’.

But then, how did that explain the hurt and sense of loss? How did that explain away the very real desire to hunt Rian down and never let him go? Was that possible after only a week? After two hook-ups and a life or death scenario that had nearly gotten them both killed? 

Was it love? Or just lust and the fact that he’d been lonely for too long? Rian was familiar. He was a source of old feelings and desires. He was… everything Shamus shouldn’t want, but did.

Shamus blinked and realized, with a start, that Addison was kneeling in front of him. She looked worried. Rightfully so, of course, but perhaps he should be worried too. He’d not even noticed her before now.

“You with me now?” she asked and he nodded.

Addy nodded as well and reached up to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Shamus had a moment to wonder where the blanket had come from before he realized that she wasn’t the only one looking at him with worried eyes.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just…”

“In shock?” she offered and he nodded. Maybe. Probably.

“Rough night,” he supplied and she chuckled.

“Yeah. Seems that way.” Addy shifted to sit beside him rather than stay crouched on the floor. “So what happened here?” she asked, nodding to the body.

Shamus stared down at the man who’d come to kill him. The man who would have if it hadn’t been for Rian. He’d not heard either of them enter the apartment. It had been the fight that had woken him.

“Guy picked the wrong apartment,” Shamus mumbled.

Addy snorted. “I’ll say. You put four bullets into him, Shae.”

Shamus swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. “He came to kill me,” he clarified, still staring down at the body.

“So not a b&e gone wrong?” she said and Shamus shook his head. Was she questioning him?

“Didn’t seem that way,” he replied after thinking about it for a second. Addy didn’t know about the hit. No one did. How would it look if he told them Whelan wanted him dead? He had an alibi. He’d been at the station the whole time. But still, it seemed like an odd coincidence. 

“He wasn’t trying to rob me,” Shamus added. “He came in armed and with the intent to kill. We fought, I got the upper hand, then put him down.”

“Any idea who the guy is?” Addy inquired and Shamus finally looked up to see another detective standing just off to the side of them. 

He glanced between the two of them, then looked back to the body. “No,” he told them both. “Seemed like a professional, but I can’t be sure.”

“How so?” the other detective asked and Shamus looked over to him again. Straczynski from homicide. They’d butted heads a time or three. Decent cop though.

“He wasn’t some punk who broke in and started shooting,” Shamus replied. “He knew what he was doing, his gun was silenced, and it took four bullets to put him down. So pro.”

“Any idea why this guy would want you dead?” Straczynski asked and Addison snorted.

“You kidding?” she shot back. “We work Organized Crime. You can’t throw a rock in this city without hitting someone who wants us dead.”

Straczynski nodded. “But who’s top of your list?”

“James Whelan,” Shamus supplied. “We’ve been a thorn in his side for years and I personally put his eldest son behind bars.”

“Whelan’s dead,” Straczynski countered.

“He wasn’t twenty-four hours ago,” Shamus rationalized and Straczynski shrugged then scribbled something down.

“We about done here, Tony?” Addy inquired and Straczynski eyeballed both of them before nodding and shoving his pen and notepad back in his coat pocket.

“Yeah,” the man said with a nod. “Glad you’re alright, Connolly.”

Shamus gave a single nod of his head and slouched down against the back of the sofa. He scrubbed at his face, then turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“Why don’t you crash at my place tonight?” Addy offered and Shamus exhaled slowly, then nodded. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sounds good.”

She sat silently next to him for a second, then asked, “You sure you’re okay? We don’t need a trip to Mercy?”

Shamus shook his head. “No hospital,” he told her. “I just need sleep.”

Addy didn’t look convinced when he glanced at her, but she nodded and let it drop.  Shamus took a minute to center himself, then pushed himself up and moved to pack a bag for a few days. He didn’t want to be here anymore.

 

* * *

 

A month passed, then two. Shamus carried on as usual. The man who’d come to kill him that night had been a ghost. No prints. No name. No leads. Shamus couldn’t be bothered to care about it though. The man who’d hired him was dead. No more threat.

He’d cleaned up the apartment; replaced what had been broken, painted. It was like a band-aid on a gunshot wound though. Shamus still felt like he was missing something. He was simply going through the motions. He threw himself into his work. Got lost in the day to day. Forgot for a while that he was hemorrhaging internally. 

And then the package came.

It had been waiting for him when he’d gotten home, crammed in his too small mailbox in the lobby of his building. There’d been no return address, no postmark, and Shamus had stared at it for a long time before finally opening it. 

Inside, he found a Daughtry CD of all things. He didn’t like or dislike the band, was more of a bluesy folk music kind of guy, but the message was clear. In the list of song titles, one song was underlined. Home.

Shamus’ pulse jumped and he barely remembered to grab his wallet and phone before racing out the door.

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t much to the little nothing town they’d grown up in. There were a few grocery stores, some restaurants, a general store, and more than a few mom and pop places down Main Street. It was the kind of town where everyone knew each other, everyone talked. Nothing was sacred.

Shamus headed straight for Birch Street, didn’t stop until he was pulling into his parent’s driveway. His attention, for the moment, was on his own front door. He’d grown up in this house. His father had grown up here. And it was the one place he hated more than anywhere else. He’d not been home in years.

After killing the engine, Shamus climbed out of his truck and pocketed his keys. He thought about going inside, announcing his presence to his parents, but decided against it. Instead, he turned his attention to the cookie cutter house next door to his own. 

It was a short walk across the lawns and up to the front door of the Mahoney house. He’d never met Mrs. Mahoney. Rian’s mother had passed before they’d moved to town. Shamus remembered Mr. Mahoney though. He’d been a mean old prick; full of piss and whiskey and hate. Shamus had seen the bruises Rian had tried to hide. He’d seen the shame written all over the other boy’s face. Instead of helping him though, he’d replaced the bruises with ones of his own.

The door creaked open when Shamus knocked and he tamped down on the instinct to pull his gun and announce himself. Rian wouldn’t have brought him here if it wasn’t safe.

A quick survey of the entrance way and family room told him the house was empty. It looked as though no one had lived there for years. Shamus shut the door behind him; did a quick scout of the first floor, then headed upstairs. 

He’d been gone a long time, but he still remembered which room had been Rian’s room. Last door on the right. Their rooms had been across from each other and for a whole summer, they’d spent their every waking second tied to one another.

“I promised myself I’d never come back here,” Rian said as Shamus stepped into the room. He was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, staring out. “Promised myself that I’d forget it all once I left.”

Shamus leaned into the doorframe, eyes tracing over the empty room.

“Your dad?” he asked because it seemed like the right thing to do and he was curious.

“Dead,” Rian replied. “Drank himself to death a few years ago.”

Rian sighed and pulled his right hand out of his pocket to press one finger to the window pane. “I used to watch you, you know. Sometimes I imagined what it would be like to crawl in bed with you. Sometimes I imagined suffocating you with your own pillow while you slept.”

Shamus huffed a soft laugh. “I would have deserved it.”

“Me in your bed or me suffocating you?” Rian mused and Shamus laughed again.

“I never deserved you in my bed.”

Rian nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

Silence fell between them. Rian let his hand drop away from the window, but didn’t turn and Shamus was content to simply watch him. They stayed that way for what felt like an age, both lost to their own thoughts.

The sunlight began to fade after a while and Shamus decided his parents would notice his truck sooner or later.

“I should have kissed you,” Shamus stated softly and moved away from the door; further into the room. “I think maybe this all might have been different if I had.”

Rian finally turned to look at him, eyes soft, expression open for once. “So kiss me.”

Shamus’ heart fluttered as he stopped in front of him. It felt like something had shifted between them. A switch had been flipped.

“Only if I can keep you,” he whispered, hand raising to cup Rian’s cheek.

Rian leaned into the touch, took a step forward to press their bodies together, and licked his lips. “Kiss me,” he said again. 

And Shamus did.


End file.
